armor
by irresistible.revolution
Summary: "My mother's upcoming ball," Klaus drawls, from a corner of the room. "You need a dress." (Klaus and Bonnie team up - and dress up - to face Esther. TVD S3 AU)


_"I wore you every day, I wore you like my true skin, I clothed myself in you as Herakles did in the bear, I spoke in your mouth, I signed with your hand, and playing your role, every day, I played mine."_

(Céline Minard, _Olimpia)_

* * *

She isn't sure what she expected when Klaus summoned her to the mansion for something "important", but it wasn't this.

In the weeks since she and Abby had opened Esther's casket, only for Esther to betray them by trying to channel - siphon, really - the power of the Bennett line into her mysterious agenda, thereby instigating a conflict that ended with Damon turning Abby into a vampire, Bonnie had been forced to ally herself with the one being strong and determined enough to challenge the Original Witch: her bastard son. The contours of their allegiance are still opaque, still shifting. She's barely growing accustomed to the wealth of Grimoires and magical objects she now had access to via Klaus' collection - a collection she'd only dipped her toes in, guilty about the conditions under which he might have acquired it - but this...

The parlor on the first floor had been transformed into a mini closet, lined with racks of evening gowns surrounding a three-piece full length mirror at the center.

She looks at the hybrid in wary confusion.

"What's going on here?"

"My mother's upcoming ball," Klaus drawls, from a corner of the room. "You need a dress."

In the afternoon sunlight her eyes catch the glitter of sequins and beads and jewel-colored fabrics. A strange, rich world beckoning. It causes an uneasy swoop in her stomach, so she reaches for the stable, the familiar.

"I also need to practice the boundary spell and finish enchanting those rings for you and Elijah," she points out, dropping her satchel on a nearby chair. "What I'm wearing to the ball won't make a difference if Esther can snap her fingers and turn us into ash."

"You should invest less faith in my mother's abilities and more in your own," he says, coming to stand before her. "'I've watched you perform the boundary spell, you could do it in your sleep."

Klaus had a habit of referring to her powers with a kind of reverence she's unsure what to do with. She's never known anyone but Grams to see her magic as anything more than a means of survival. His regard is heady in the most disconcerting of ways, and the sensation of of having to guard herself, ever thick in his presence, returns fourfold. "...thanks," she says with a quirk of her mouth as she steps around him, turning her back on the gathered finery. "But I don't think we should get too cocky. Esther managed to channel me, my mother and all my ancestors for almost two weeks before any of us caught on."

"Make no mistake, little witch. You will have your vengeance," he says, with a slow smile. "As I will have mine."

 _Vengeance_. The word hovers between them like a glistening apple her teeth itch for. If Esther hadn't deceived everyone, and if Finn and Kol hadn't sided with their mother against Klaus, Abby would still be a witch instead of a vampire. She could have had her mother back in her life to fill some of the gaping void of Grams's death. It's impossible to imagine now that any redemption could come from all this, so against all her efforts to hold onto morality the thought of Esther's defeat makes her blood thrum.

"Then why even attend this ball?" she questions, arms crossed. "Why do we need to make nice with Esther when we're all at war?"

" _This_ is a part of war," he says, drawing near her again. "My mother is gathering all manner of factions under her roof - covens, wolves, Hunters, anyone and everyone she thinks might be useful to her. She means to show me that her allies are plentiful. I mean to show her that mine are strong."

There's a rustle of cloth behind her and the trim figure of an older woman comes into view dressed in an immaculate navy blue dress, holding two garments draped over her arm.

"Are we ready to begin?" she asks, her voice both clipped and calm. Bonnie catches the slightest hint of a Germanic accent.

Klaus beckons her forward. "Bonnie, this is Frau Voight, one of the finest seamstresses Europe has ever produced. She will ensure whatever dress you choose fits you as though it were made for you."

"Look, Klaus I appreciate the gesture. But I can dress myself."

Frau Voight and Klaus exchange a look that immediately has Bonnie defensive. "What?" she demands, lips pursed, ready to defend her outfit choice of loose cardigan and favorite boots to death if necessary. Sure, she didn't have Elena's classic style or Caroline's flair, but she had her own aesthetic thank you. She'd dressed herself just fine for plenty of school dances, not to mention city council dinners on her father's arm. The idea that she's incapable of choosing an outfit on her own to face some vindictive immortal witch makes her bristle openly.

Besides, her friends were already leery of her temporary partnership with Klaus. She and Jeremy were barely on speaking terms since the breakup. Elena and Caroline both thought she was making a grave mistake helping the hybrid. Stefan had remained neutral, but Damon had openly suggested that Klaus meant to use her, fuck her and dispose of her, in that order.

If she chose to wear some glitzy ballgown Klaus bought her -

"You seem to be mistaking this for a request," he says, his voice quiet and inexorable. "You _will_ choose a gown from the selection here. And what's more, you shall wear it to Esther's ball if I have to strap you down and dress you in it like a wayward child."

Bonnie keeps her gaze locked on Klaus who returns it with steady intensity. She swears his eyes flash gold for a moment, and her magic flares in response, causing the furniture to rattle.

A sharp reprimand from Frau Voight interrupts their impasse as the older woman hurries to steady the racks of gowns.

Undeterred, Klaus advances on Bonnie, backing her against a table. "Do you know why my mother was bold enough to siphon your line barely an hour after you had released her from her tomb? Because she believed she could. Because she sees you as weak, as insignificant."

Her jaw clenches, her magic sparking again as though her wrist would burst into flame. Klaus' hand covers hers, absorbing the heat of her power, his grip almost painful. "It's not entirely untrue. You are reckless, blinded by your loyalty to those weaker than yourself, crippled with morality -,"

She tries to jerk her hand away. "Let go of me-,"

" - and yet, were it not for Elijah you would have killed me. You, Bonnie Bennett, would have succeeded where countless others, and Esther herself, had failed."

His words confound her. That reverence again but this time laced with something raw. Is he _...praising_ her for nearly killing him?

"So which Bonnie would you like Esther to see? The novice witch, pathetically out of her depth?"His touch has gentled in the interim, their fingers nearly entwined. "Or the one who brought me to my knees?"

* * *

"Undergarments too, please."

Standing in bra and panties behind the screen Frau Voight had erected, Bonnie balks at this latest instruction.

"Is that really necessary?"

The older woman makes an impatient sound. "They will interfere with the fit of the gowns."

She then proceeds to speak in German with Klaus who answers in an amused tone from the other side of the screen while Bonnie shimmies out of her underwear.

Frau Voight is utterly nonplussed by her nakedness, so much so that Bonnie feels embarrassed for feeling embarrassed. The seamstress is the very embodiment of efficiency, helping her in and out of dresses and fastening the intricate buttons and clasps. The first few gowns are a blur. Bonnie is too overwhelmed by the feel of silk and satin on her bare skin and the sight of herself so lavishly adorned to do more than stare dumbly at her reflection.

Klaus and Frau Voight make a well-oiled team, conversing in rapid German while choosing which gown she should try on next. Occasionally Klaus would make the older woman crack a smile with some remark, and she would return a dry comment that had the hybrid rolling his eyes in playful deference. It was almost like watching a mother with her favorite if often recalcitrant son.

"I didn't realize you knew so much about women's clothing," Bonnie quips from the small tailoring block she's standing on. The hybrid hovers behind her while Frau Voight fusses with the hem of her dress. This particular gown is a fitted red sheath with layers of gold-embroidered georgette floating around her like wisps of flame. She stumbles a little only to feel Klaus' hand on the small of her corseted back, steadying her.

"Clothing is a form of armor," he says, meeting her eyes in the mirror. "And I am well-studied in war."

Bonnie ponders the sheen of the dress, seeing it in a different light as the enormity of what they're undertaking together settles over like a mantle.

"This war...do you think we'll win?"

She searches his face for an answer but his gaze is elsewhere, on her shoulders, her waist, the swirl of gilded fabric at her hips. She isn't sure what to make of his slow half-smile as he traces the embroidery on her lower back with his fingers.

His eyes, when they travel up to hers, are threaded with gold.

Caught in the strange, heated moment, neither of them hear Frau Voight clearing her throat until the seamstress issues a sharp instruction in German and switches positions with Klaus, fiddling with the seams of the bodice.

"Finery suits you, little witch." The hybrid kneels, taking the hems of the flame-tinted skirts between his fingers briefly. "You should allow me to dress you for battle more often."

Their position makes her uneasy, lightheaded. "I... was actually hoping this is the last battle I'm in for a while."

He says nothing to this, and soon Frau Voight is ushering her behind the screen again.

* * *

They cycle through Valentino, Versace, Dolce, Chanel, Armani, Murad, Saab. At the end of two hours, Bonnie's stiff from standing while the various beads, straps and zippers have left imprints on her skin. There's a quiet brutality to the sartorial, she's realizing, almost as punishing as the demands of witchcraft.

Frau Voight looks unflappable as ever. Klaus is stonefaced, inflexible, insisting she try on dress after dress after dress. Bonnie feels one more fitting away from bursting into exhausted tears.

"Alexander McQueen. A personal favorite of mine," Frau Voight says about the latest one. Bonnie studies the strangely beautiful dress of black-beaded gauze cut into feathery layers around her ankles. The shoulders are stiff like a soldier's jacket and adorned with silver epaulets.

"It's...amazing," she says, wearily. "I just-,"

"You must not hesitate, not even a little, or the illusion shatters," Frau Voight chides. "Whichever dress you choose, own it, make it irrevocably yours. Else the battle is already lost."

Her stern tone breaks something inside Bonnie, but not the way she'd expected. A memory floods her chest of another voice, another set of knowing eyes, the faint perfume of calla lily. Of Grams, opening her arms for her and holding her close. _Look who's returned from battle._ A warm, quiet river of love wrapping around her, leaving her bones heavy in its absence.

"I think I've tried enough," Bonnie hears herself say.

Frau Voight looks to Klaus. Bonnie waits for a remonstrance but, strangely enough, the hybrid studies her face for a moment before inclining his head.

"As you wish."

* * *

She's late.

He ought to have driven her himself, ensured she was here exactly on time. He picks another flute of champagne off a passing waiter's tray and surveys the room with tightly controlled irritation. His mother has gathered an assortment of his enemies and some he'd even forgotten existed. Organizations like the Stryx hold court with covens of ancestral witches from New Orleans, werewolves converse tensely with vampires, disparate groups finding common cause in their wish to see him and any who ally with him destroyed. As he suspected, this ball is nothing but an elegant reconnaissance, Esther finding him lacking and challenging him to succumb to the inevitable.

"Perhaps Miss Bennett has had a change of heart," Elijah remarks, coming to stand beside him and deftly draining his own champagne. "I suppose you've burned all bridges with any other magic users that we might call to our aid."

"Unlike our mother I have little use for canon fodder," he replies, his tone sharp with dismissal as he scans the room once more. _Where the bloody hell are you witch?_

"Niklaus, Elijah, my darling sons...,"

Both brothers turn at their mother's approach. Klaus stands upright, fully marshalling that quality that Esther found insolent and Mikael intolerable but that Klaus firmly believed was essential to his triumph over them.

"I hope you're enjoying your evening," Esther says, with a blithe smile. Rubies speckle her throat and dangle like drops of rich blood from her ears. She's flanked by Kol and Finn who wear matching rubies pinned to their lapels and Klaus doesn't miss their new daylight rings, ruby instead of lapis, infused with protective magic. He suppresses a bitter smirk recalling the same magic woven into a silver starling that lay against his chest every day, slowly draining him of strength. His mother had always been this way: what power she could not grasp she set out to destroy with a petty, goblin greed. He forces himself to return her smile, sating his anger on the vision of a world finally without her.

"Quite the crowd you've assembled," he remarks, casually. "Your guest lists have grown alarmingly liberal of late."

She offers another blinding smile. "Worry not, Niklaus. I assure you each guest here was chosen after the most _careful_ deliberation."

Elijah clears his throat. "I'm surprised, then, to see the covens here that I do."

Esther turns cool eyes on him before giving a soft laugh. "I suppose I never did teach you both too much about witchcraft."

"Well you were rather preoccupied levelling it against your own children," Klaus says, his face unassuming.

"My dear child. Still so impudent after all these years," Esther tuts. "I never wielded power against you, but _for_ you. What will it take for you to accept that I have only ever wanted to keep you safe?"

"A nice little snowfall in Hell should do the trick."

There's a clink of jewels and a swish of heavy silk as she moves closer to him, a gloved hand stopping short of brushing his cheek. "It saddens me to see you so embittered, Niklaus. So alone."

Her words are honeyed mockery as they've always been, the subtle poison she's fed each of them from the moment they first latched to her breast. He almost pities Finn and Kol, but it's too late. They'd chosen their allegiance and would drain the bitter cup to the end.

He's about to offer a cold reply when something flickers across her face, making him turn his head to catch the petite figure approaching them. Bonnie Bennett reaches his side and, with only a moment's hesitation, slips a small hand in the crook of his arm.

"Sorry I'm late," she says, smiling brightly. "I had some trouble with security."

She's dressed in a cream-silk evening gown that pools at her ankles. He recognizes the mid-century stylings - a graceful boat neck that leaves her neck and shoulders bare, the stately fineness of the silk - but not the dress itself. It's not from the collection he'd presented her with, in fact the garment is shockingly simple, unadorned save for a silvery hint of seed pearls at the neck and hem that catches the light when she moves. Yet, if she'd arrived bedecked in diamonds she could not have carried herself with more lighthearted grace.

Her words register at the same time he catches the scent of fresh magic and notices the dark curls that have slipped her chignon to fall around her face and neck. She's evidently fresh from battle, slightly tousled but still poised, still standing. By his side.

Klaus feels himself smile, covering her hand with his own, thumb caressing her knuckles. "I trust it wasn't too much of an obstacle?"

"I've had more trouble using my fake ID at nightclubs," she says, before turning to Esther. "Don't worry, I didn't rough your minions up too badly."

A subtle frost covers Esther's face as she extends the young witch a hand. "Bonnie, I'm glad you've decided to join us."

Bonnie eyes the proffered hand like it's a cobra's hood. Klaus feels the tension vibrating through her slender frame, magic and rage restrained with a herculean effort. He draws her closer to him knowing the intimacy would irk Esther further, for she covets his love of witches even as she resents its focus on anyone but herself.

"May I have this dance?" he murmurs in Bonnie's ear.

Shw answers with a dazzling smile. "I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

"Your mom's a piece of work. No offense," Bonnie whispers as they move around the dance floor.

"I would be offended if you said anything less," is his smooth reply. He smiles, sanguine and dashing in a dark, well-cut suit. His waistcoat, jade-green embroidered with argent thread, gleams when he moves. Like the silver of leaves on nights when you know a storm's coming. On anyone else it would be perfectly suave, but there's an edge, something sleek and animalic, that Klaus never bothers to restrain. She longs for something similar of her own as she fights the lingering adrenaline from her altercation earlier.

His voice is warm and light, pulling her from her thoughts. "You came well-armored, little witch."

"Grams had good taste," she says, with a small shrug.

"And I presume Frau Voight made herself useful."

She nods. "Did the alterations in less than an hour. She likes the dress on me."

"As do I."

"I thought about what she said, what you both said," Bonnie continues, ignoring the faint heat on her cheeks as his eyes sweep down her body. "Those gowns you had were amazing, but they didn't make me feel the way I wanted to feel."

He raises an eyebrow, both amused and interested. "And what is it that?"

It's not really something she can find words for, but Bonnie finds herself wishing she could. Wanting to make him understand how she can sense Grams' presence around her even as she mourns her loss, how she feels both wounded and strengthened by what she carries on her back, how she knows why she's going into battle, and who for. How that's her armor. Klaus regards her intently, waiting for a response as they move in tandem across the floor.

She bites her tongue. They might be allies on _this_ battlefield, but beyond that- beyond that is the reality of who he is and what she stands for.

"You know," she begins, cocking her head slightly. "You never answered my question."

"Hmm?"

"About whether you think we'll win."

His hand, which has thus far rested lightly on her back, trails an inch lower, pressing her closer to him. Anchored together in a field of enemies, there's no mirror to negotiate, no fine layer of glass to dilute his gaze. There's only the power she feels thrumming in his touch, the power coiled in her spine that he cradles with his fingers, the heat of their shared silence, like standing in the eye of a storm.

A moment, gilded with clarity, and answer enough.

* * *

 ** _A/N:_** _I'm marking this 'Complete' because I don't have any plans to expand it at the moment - I'm still working on the update for "a case of you" as well as a new AU I'm hoping to share soon! - but if I ever do, y'all will be the first to know ;) Hope you enjoyed this little slice of ma babies playing dress up. Let me know your thoughts! And feel free to hit me up here or on Tumblr! xoxoxo_


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